"Choices" unedited (beginning of carnival)

Bob and I were trimming houses for Johnny Van Soest at the time. One day Johnny called Bob to a private luncheon, leaving me at the jobsite where I continued to work, eating my lunch as I went along in my details. The thing about me, I am told, is that the work I do is exemplary, setting the standards of those around me, and would be expected of a well-trained Finish Carpenter. Bob, on the other hand, was an imposter. His accumulated skills gave him the resemblance of a carpenter but he was not. It was more accurate that he was a general laborer. Truth is, he had such an attitude, (much like Stan), and was so snide, that nobody could stand him long enough to get any kind of work done at all. He was so insecure; anyone getting the attention of the superiors, other than him self, was targeted to be subtly, and slowly, whittled away at with Bob’s tone. It was all fun and games on the surface but it was malicious and deviant in it’s intent; cowardly passive, yet aggressive attacks, veiled in humor. This is one of the purposes he had for my craftsmanship, passing my work off as his own where ever, and when ever, he could get away with it… until now.

Bob would soon come back from his little private luncheon, at The First Wok on Northland Drive, to make light of what ended up being an outright confrontation. John discovered that my work was what he had been promised in affect but with Bob on the job, trying to maintain a dominate grasp on the contract while fearing me taking over- the truth spilled out for the only one who mattered in the scheme to see… the man who signs the check.

Bob’s insecurity constantly rewarded me with information. If it hadn’t been for his uneasiness and guilt emanating from his disability of not being able to handle silence, he may never have told me what was said at the luncheon. Instead of a discussion about the next house or a price negotiation, Johnny flatly stated, “I don’t think you take pride in your work.” I was a bit shocked that Bob shared that with me but maybe he needed me to help him make light of it, so he wouldn’t feel the psychological sting, and the threat. Bob and I both knew who’s work they all hired him for, and as they would learn that it was mine, he would paint out a gruesome picture of me- making himself look like a star for dealing with me. As long as he controlled me he could benefit from my work, keeping me on the weak end of the pay scale to insure that I was starving enough to keep performing. Constantly beating me down in my mind, extinguishing the flames of desire that burned in my heart, that gave me the spirit that I had. He would toy with my life as if I were a lab rat or a fly, only to torture me and keep my wings from being able to lift my self back up to the heights of who I had been in the past.

His mouth would leak things it never should have. He was his own worst enemy in that way. He is one of the first people you’d shoot, if he were in your crime family because he would run his mouth off and cause your inevitable ruin. And what might be the strangest part of it all is that him and I were a lot alike. My filter has been broken since the accident and I can't, for the life of me, help it.

At one time he was an employee at a dowel company in Marne but quit when they scolded him for performing excessively in his position, denying him a raise that he had been pressing for. This didn’t wear well with his rejection issues. Before he left, being a deviant, and a psychiatrists dream, he altered all of the company’s production jigs. This malicious act caused a huge problem, and was a devastating blow to the business, that would rob the employees of their security by going out of business because of it this act. This was a problem in the Marne area because there were few jobs around that contributed to the local community and it’s Economy. 

This would be bragged about every once in a while, just for the sake of inflating his own ego and subtly letting me know that he owned me. Occasionally he would remark to me that I, “just don’t know how to suck up right.” This implied that maybe I should be submissive to his lust. Later, he would reveal a problem at home involving the computer, mentioning the discovery of gay porn being viewed in the browser history. He suggested that it was the curiosity of the younger of his two charges that were being cared for in his home- his brother Joe’s kids. The boy was around thirteen at the time, and very meek, more than likely fearful of Bob. How convenient it was to use this poor boy for a scapegoat. Cheryl would now giggle a bit over the discovery, and continue to monitor the traffic on her Internet service, thinking the boys were being boys, as they say.

At one point, while staying at my mother’s house after my separation, an acquaintance convinced me into meeting him to go out and “party.” He picked me up as I walked down the street away from my mother’s house, and then doubled back to his apartment- the same building that Selena and Diamond had lived in. When we got there, I realized I had made a mistake. Apparently this guy owed money for dope and had just taken me hostage. The plan was that I would give them money in order to be allowed to leave. I spent ten hours trying to figure a way out of this situation without giving them what they wanted but ended up calling Bob to come and get me, using some of the money he owed me to fund these dirtballs for their precious crack. Just knowing that they are in their own hell is satisfaction enough, I suppose.

Yes, it was another convenient situation for Bob to use to his advantage. Not too long after this is when I lived by the creek, saved Laura and Matt from losing their kids, and then got a job working for the carnival, which is a very interesting story, especially since it took about a year or less from the time Mindy left until I left with them on my suicide run.

I had just left 84 Lumber and was trying to get my job smoothed over. I think I was fired that day because as a Sawyer, I cut the parts for the trusses we manufactured but almost all of my cuts were wrong. With my brain injury dominating the situation, and alcohol compounding things as best supporting actor, everything was all mixed up. As I crossed the highway overpass, going towards town, a guy driving a king cab pickup truck stopped and asked me if I needed a ride or a job. People don’t just stop and ask you if you need any sort of help these days, and I should have been weary, especially since I was already in town. I got in, of course, only to find myself on my way to the carnival with a man who had to run for potatoes to use in his food wagon that he operated there. He explained to me that they always needed schleps, and me- I nominated myself. What a typical Pisces.

It was the first day of the carnival, which was still in set-up mode. Jerry’s Concessions were providing the show. The work I was assigned to do was running a ride called, The Force Ten. This ride was the feature on this midway, going in circle fashion, lifting high and tilting, spinning at a speed that generated a G-force in excess of three G’s. All of this while several pre-amps, and over two-dozen speakers blared music that I felt was appropriate for the rhythm and the intensity of the ride. It was up to me to decide what music to use. Metallica happened to be the best to choose from, so I selected “Battery” as the main track to use. The intro is kind of long, so I played it while loading the buckets on the ride. I would load a couple buckets and then jog the machine. Then I’d load a couple more, jogging it around some more, while burning through the introduction. When it got time to go, I would hit the run button, choreographing the music and ride for the rush and thrill- compounding the effect. What a Blast! People couldn’t get enough of it. The ride was drawing crowds of one hundred people or more that would watch. My costume helped a bit having long crazy two-tone hair from a dye-job I let some crack addicted woman talk me into. The music would fill the grounds and I would thrash my hair about, while playing air guitar. I loved being on a stage, especially five feet off of the ground. It was my own show that put two hundred and fifty dollars in my hand, per week. This was a huge pay cut, from the seventy thousand I made as a Finish Carpenter, to the fifty thousand per year I was making at Permalife but it didn’t matter anymore. My whole life was destroyed and all that was left was garbage. Little did I realize I was now a volunteer prisoner, serving time on death row in every possible sense of the phrase.  

One of the first couple days working for the ride owner, I was asked if I would be interested in leaving with them to go to the next spot. “Sure,” I answered. The very next question was, “Do you have any warrants?” This should have indicated the reality of modern day slavery but my common sense was completely out to lunch since my accident. I was on a suicide run, with that intention. That night, at close, I got a twenty-dollar tattoo of a runaway doobie on my left shoulder, and threw all of my identification in the nearest trashcan.